Let Me Help
by Angst Is My Middle Name
Summary: (or Five Times Mike Helped Chet, and One Time Chet Helped Mike) "Let me help. A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He'll recommend those three words even over I love you."-CPT James T. Kirk, 'City on the Edge of Forever', Star Trek: TOS.. Notes inside. Rated for some language and injuries.
1. Breakfast

_**I just have a lot of feelings about Chet and Mike, and I'm not sure where they came from. Maybe because they're pretty much opposites, with Mike being so quiet and calm and Chet being so obnoxious and excitable. I've seen a few fics with them interacting and helping each other, but I needed more, and I'm sure you do, too.**_

_**This is related to my other fics, 'Somebody to Lean On' on AO3 (as xcourtney_chaoticx) and 'To the Memory of Boot, a Dog,' but this should work on its own even if you don't read them. (Of course, I'm not going to stop you from reading them...)**_

_*****This fic does have some salty language, mentions death from a variety of causes, and mentions multiple kinds of injuries.*****_

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><p>"<em>Let me help. A hundred years or so from now, I believe,<em>

_a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. _

_He'll recommend those three words even over I love you."_

-CPT James T. Kirk in 'City on the Edge of Forever', Star Trek: TOS

xXxXx

1.) The A-Shift of the newly-formed Station 51 had not quite been together for three months when they had their first structure fire with fatalities as a team. Separately, every one of the six men had dealt with fire-related fatalities, but it never got easier, especially for the two men who were now paramedics, Roy DeSoto and John Gage. Their whole job, after all, was to rescue people and get them to the hospital alive. Their lineman, Marco Lopez and Chester Kelly, were hardly better off, always wondering what they could've done differently to affect the outcome. CPT Dick Hammer had obviously been doing this job for longer than any of them, but he surely asked himself if he could have moved his people faster, made a different judgment, made a faster decision.

Lastly, there was their engineer, Mike Stoker. As the engineer, there was no one safer on scene than he was, standing back with the engine and monitoring the pumps. He loved being an engineer, not because it was safe but because he enjoyed the work. Being safe meant he was the furthest removed from the deaths physically, though he was no less affected by them. The engine was quiet on the way back to the station. Even the usually rambunctious Chet Kelly was silent, and the lack of chatter was disconcerting when it had never been so quiet with this group of men before.

Mike went about his chores following the run and thought about his fellow firemen. CPT Hammer, Marco, and Roy were all married, so they could talk to their wives about what happened tonight. John was single, but he was close with Roy, so the older paramedic would probably be able to help more than anyone else. Mike lived alone, as well, though he was generally able to work through his problems, and if he wasn't, he had the number for the department shrink from his probie year. (The Oaks Manor Apartment Fire of '62 did a number on everyone involved, not just the probie Mike Stoker.) Chet lived alone, too, and Mike realized with a jolt he knew next to nothing about him. _For all the talking he does, none of it's about him. I don't know if he has any family around or anyone to just talk to about stuff like this._ He cast a glance over at the younger man cleaning a spot on the engine. Chet was still much too quiet.

As everyone got ready to leave after their shift, Mike quietly approached Chet and asked, "Hey, you got any plans for the rest of the day?"

Chet blinked up at him, as if he couldn't believe Mike was speaking to him.

"I just…" Mike chose his words carefully, "Well, with everything that happened… I don't really think any of us should be alone, y'know? Figured we could just grab breakfast or something."

Chet chewed his lip, his brow slightly furrowed as Mike waited for a response.

"Uh… sure, Stoker. That sounds… sounds great," Chet replied at last.

They met up in the parking lot behind the station, where Chet suggested a little diner he knew of not too far away that was good and cheap. Mike followed him to a little hole-in-the-wall called Lou's and went in with him.

"Hey, is Charlie in?" Chet asked an older woman leaning on the counter.

"Nope, not 'til ten."

"Aw, alright. What about Missi?"

"Yeah, Missi's in. Wanna sit with her?"

"That's be great, Lou. What section is she in?"

Lou pointed them toward the far side of the diner, and Chet led Mike to a booth in the corner, secluded from view.

"Hiya, Chet," a bubbly blond waitress greeted them, "Who's your friend?"

"Missi, this is Mike Stoker. We work at the station together."

"Nice to meet ya, Mike."

Mike offered her a friendly nod as Chet spoke up, "Could you just start us out with some coffee, Missi?"

Not quite fifteen minutes later, the two firemen were presented with plates piled with eggs, bacon, potatoes, and pancakes. They ate in silence, needing to refuel after their stressful morning and not wanting to ruin their appetites. _But we'll have to talk sooner or later…_ Breakfast was finished in record time, their mugs refilled with fresh coffee. Silence reigned for a long moment.

"Are you alright, Chet?" Mike asked quietly.

Chet didn't look up from his coffee. Mike worried he'd screwed up, that Chet would get angry or clam up. Finally, Chet shook his head.

"You wanna go somewhere else to talk about it?" Mike suggested.

Chet snorted, sarcastically replying, "Your place or mine, Stoker?"

"I'm serious. We can pick up some beers, I can make some lunch, we'll watch some football… Otherwise, we'll both be alone all day with nothing but our thoughts, and after the shift we just had, I don't think that's such a good thing."

_Please, Chet… just understand that I wanna help you… let me help…_

"O-okay," he said at last, "okay… can we-… let's go to my place. It's closer."

Mike paid the bill (over Chet's protests) and headed to the gas station for a couple six packs, hoping Chet had enough in his fridge to make something for lunch as he followed the beat up VW van to an apartment building. Chet's apartment was a disaster. Every available surface was covered with empty beer cans and food containers and (presumably) dirty clothes. (The only items in any sort of order were his records, all of which were in alphabetical order by artist, then chronological order by release.) Mike wrinkled his nose, "Would it kill ya to clean up once in a while, Chet?"

"Hey, man, if you're gonna be critical, you can-"

"Did you want lunch or not? I'll take my beer and go."

"You make a good point, Stoker."

Chet put on the Rams pre-game while Mike sought out food for lunch later. The Rams were playing the Eagles in Philadelphia that week, so the game would start at ten, giving them some time to talk over what happened before there was the chance of a distraction. Mike finally settled on the couch beside Chet, both cracking open a beer. _Maybe just sitting here like this will be enough…_ Chet was still tense. Mike could feel it rolling off him, and after only a few minutes, he asked, "Didn't you wanna talk, Chet?"

"Honestly, Stoker, not really," Chet replied, "I'm just fine with sittin' here with a buddy and tryin' to forget this whole mess ever happened. If we do any talking, I don't want it to be about what happened. We can talk about football, about work, about the next prank I'm gonna play on Gage, anything but the dead guy we pulled outta that house tonight and those kids that don't have a dad anymore, okay?"

Mike simply looked at Chet for a moment, then asked, "What prank _are_ you gonna pull on Gage next?"

Chet let out a bark of laughter that surprised Mike enough to make him jump. He laughed loudly and for a long time, until his face was red and his eyes were full of tears.

"You're a good guy, Mike… the best, probably," Chet said when he was finally able to speak again, "I-… thank you. If you hadn't asked me to hang out… thanks."

"You're welcome, Chet. Now, spill about this prank on Gage…"


	2. Two AM

_**Warnings: Language, brief mentions of cancer, and alcohol abuse/binge drinking**_

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><p>2.) As a rule, firemen don't enjoy being woken up at about two in the morning by a phone call. Two AM phone calls generally meant someone they knew and cared about either dead or likely soon would be, and so Mike prepared himself for the worst as he picked up his phone. His voice shook as he answered, "He-hello? This is Mike Stoker."<p>

"_See, that's good ol' Stoker. He's sure-sure a real pal,"_ Chet slurred on the other end of the line, _"Shit, I bet I woke 'im up. Stoker, did I-did I wake you up?"_

Mike heaved a sigh of relief, replying, "Yeah, Chet, you woke me up, and damn near gave me a heart attack. What do you want?"

"_I… I can't talk 'bout it on the phone…"_

"Kelly, it's two in the morning, I'm not in the mood for-"

"_Can you jus' come down here?"_

Mike opened his mouth to say no, to say he would not leave the comfort of his apartment to drive Chet's drunken ass home at two AM… until Chet gave him the most pitiful, _"Please,"_ Mike had ever heard in his life. He sighed again, this time in defeat, asking, "What bar are you in?"

"_I'm… uh… Joe, where am I again?"_

"Chet, hand the phone to the bartender so he can tell me where you are…"

Twenty minutes later, Mike pulled up in front of a little dive bar called Stu's and headed in. Chet was slumped at one end of the bar, head resting on his folded arms. Mike handed the bartender a five for having to put up with the inebriated fireman and set to work getting him out of the bar. He hauled the shorter man out to his truck, half-dragging and half-carrying him, shoving him rather unceremoniously into the passenger seat.

"Mike? Izzat you?"

"Sure is, Chet."

"Where're we goin'?"

"Back to my place. You're in no shape to be alone just now, so I decided it would be easier to-"

"No, Mike, couldja jus' take me home, please?" Chet whined, "I jus' wanna go home…"

Mike hadn't gone very far, so he simply agreed to Chet's request rather than argue with him and adjusted his course for the other apartment building, praying Chet wouldn't throw up in the truck. For his part, Chet held his stomach contents until they got into his apartment, lurching into the bathroom to empty them into the toilet as soon as they'd crossed the threshold. Mike's own stomach twisted unpleasantly at the sound of Chet's retching, but he went into the bathroom anyway, perching on the edge of the tub and reaching out to rub Chet's back soothingly. He threw up for several minutes, until he had nothing left to bring up and sat back, leaning against the side of the tub beside Mike's legs.

"It isn't fair," Chet whimpered.

"What's not fair?"

"Ev'rything. Life. My life," Chet replied drunkenly, "Nothin's ever been fair, Mike."

"That isn't true."

"The fuck you know 'bout it?"

"Nothing," Mike answered honestly.

"Damn ri- you're damn right," Chet slurred angrily, "Tell me somethin'… you still got both your parents? Still-still got all your brothers 'n sisters 'n shit?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Then don' talk to me about _fair_. Thirteen, Mike. I was _thirteen_ when my life started it's-it's trip down the shitter. It-it only took minutes for me to grow up, minutes for me to go from-from boy to man."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Chet."

"Ev'ryone is, pal. Ev'ryone is."

Mike sat with him there in the bathroom until he was finally done heaving, helped him with a glass of water, and put him to bed.

"Go to sleep, Chet. I'll be out on the couch."

"It's jus' not fair," he whimpered again, "Why-?... Why's she gotta be sick?"

Mike's stomach gave a little flip. _Poor Chet… I wonder who's sick…_ He didn't pry, however, instead making sure Chet was comfortable and repeating, "Go to sleep," in a softer tone. He found a blanket and extra pillow in a closet and curled up on the couch to sleep. Chet's retching woke him at about seven, so he went in to check on him, feeling sorry for him as he dry heaved. After Chet's stomach seemed to calm a little, Mike went into the kitchen to make breakfast. Chet said nothing while he ate, likely due to embarrassment, nausea, or both, and Mike didn't press the matter.

A few weeks later, Mike received a similar call, though this time from Chet's apartment. The lineman sounded even worse than the first time, drunk and upset and utterly wretched, babbling on about the unfairness of life and wondering why bad things always had to happen to him. When Mike arrived at the apartment, Chet looked no better than he sounded, an empty fifth of Wild Turkey clutched loosely in his hand.

"She's gon' die," Chet slurred, his face wet, "Jus' like that-…"

He tried to snap his fingers and failed but didn't seem to notice.

"What do you mean?" Mike asked.

"See, she's not jus' sick now, she's dyin'… a month-a month ago, she was jus' fine, and now she's dyin' and if that ain't the biggest bitch ya ever-…"

Mike never got a straight answer. He stayed up while Chet slept, making sure the younger man wouldn't choke on his own vomit during the night. _Poor guy, it's gotta be a family member. Probably someone close. _Chet only slept for a few hours before he woke and stumbled into the bathroom with Mike's help, his stomach wanting to expel the excess of whiskey. He sat with him once more, trying to provide comfort.

"I'm sorry, Mike," Chet choked out during a break in his heaving, "I'm such an ass… keep wakin' you up, makin' you come over in the middle of the fuckin' night…"

"Trust me, Chet, if I didn't wanna be here, I wouldn't be here. I wanna help you. I can see that… that you're hurting, and I wanna help you. I want you to know that."

Chet ran a hand through his sweaty hair, saying nothing. Mike sighed, continuing, "I think you know it, too, or else you wouldn't keep callin' me at two AM. Just… you can talk to me, Chet. About anything. Got it?"

"Thanks, but… b-but I can't. I just can't."

"That's okay. I still wanna help, though. I want you to call me anytime you need help, especially if you're feelin' low like this, okay? You could really get yourself into some trouble doin' shit like this."

Chet agreed, so Mike went and made breakfast again. That was March of '71. In August, Chet took a few weeks off for reasons he only made known to CPT Stanley, and Cap wouldn't spill any secrets left with him. Mike took it upon himself to do some digging, though, and found an obituary for a Mrs. Catherine Mary Buchanan Kelly, aged fifty-one, who died of lung cancer on 15 August. She was predeceased by her husband, Mark Sebastian, in 1958, and her son, Brian Sean, in 1968, and she was survived by her three remaining children, Thomas Mark, Chester Buchanan, and Charlotte Rose. Mike just didn't know enough about Chet's family to be sure it was related, and when Chet returned to work with a series of water bombs, Mike pushed the matter from his mind entirely.


	3. Pinned

3.) _Well, this is a tight spot._ Mike looked around the caved-in building surrounding him and Chet. He took a quick inventory of his own body and was surprised (and pleased) to note he had no major injuries from the collapse. Chet, however, was not so lucky. The lineman was pinned under a piece of debris too heavy for Mike to move on his own. There was a possibility that doing so would hurt Chet more than it would help him, so he was stuck until someone came for them… which was a problem unto itself. Mike and Chet had gone pretty far into the old building in order to work recovery, so it would be a while before someone could get to them, especially since the H/T had been broken in the collapse. Knowing there was nothing else he could (and hating it), Mike went over and sat by Chet.

The debris had him pinned at the abdomen, already causing breathing difficulties. Mike estimated its weight at anywhere between 300-350 lbs., and while he was no paramedic, he knew what could happen with accidents like this. _Internal bleeding. That's what Roy and Johnny would worry about. That's the big problem with crushing injuries._ Mike abruptly realized Chet had been silent for the few minutes since the collapse and found him to be unmoving, his eyes closed. In a panic, Mike ripped off one of his gloves and pressed his fingers to Chet's neck, praying he would find a pulse, almost crying with relief when he did. Chet thankfully groaned and blinked into consciousness a minute or two later.

"M-Mike? Wha' happened? Wha-?... Where am I?" he slurred, not quite alert yet and beginning to panic, "Mike, Mike, I-I can't breathe! Why can't-can't I breathe? M-Mike-!"

"It's okay, Chet, " Mike soothed, "You're gonna be alright. We were doing recovery in this old building after that fire, remember? The building collapsed, and you were pinned under some debris. Well, you're still pinned under the debris. It's too big for me to move by myself, so I'm afraid you're-"

"Don't say that," Chet blurted, his blue eyes wide and unfocused.

"Say what?"

"That-that you're afraid."

Chet's voice was barely audible, as if he didn't want Mike to hear. _But I am afraid, Chet. I'm very afraid._ Mike spoke again, choosing his words more carefully, "I'm pretty sure you're gonna be stuck like that 'til someone finds us. H/T was crushed in the collapse."

Chet's gaze was unfocused for several more minutes, as was his mind. Mike waited patiently for him to fully come around, tried to engage him simple conversation, to keep him awake. He tried to hide how bothered he was at not being able to help his friend more. Chet finally shifted as much as he could under the circumstances, his face going bright red.

"What's wrong, Chet?" Mike asked worriedly, "Are you-? Is it pain? Your breathing?"

"No… no… shit," Chet mumbled, "Would ya fuckin' believe-…"

"Look, Chet, are you alright? I just-"

"Jesus H. Christ, Mike, do I fuckin' look like I'm alright?" Chet snapped brutally, "I'm pinned under what's probably 400 lbs but feels like a fuckin' ton, I can hardly breathe, and I'm pretty sure I fuckin' pissed myself in all this crazy bullshit! I don't think I qualify for alright just now!"

His face was nearer to purple than red now, and Mike was still more concerned for his well-being than anything else.

"I get that, Chet, but you need to calm down," Mike told him in his calmest fireman's tone, "Pleas, just… calm down. Gettin' yourself all worked up isn't gonna help you any."

For a moment, Chet's expression only grew angrier, but the moment passed. The red faded from his face. He coughed and winced, more color draining from his face than Mike would have liked.

"Hey, Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever, uh, ever been pinned by 400 lbs. of debris?"

"Can't say I have, Chet… though it looks more like 350 to me."

"Well, either way, I do not recommend it. You ever been wounded at all? While at work, I mean?"

"There was just one time. My first year after probie year."

"What happened?" Chet asked.

"Oh, I was pretty stupid. Probie mistake really. Got my forearm sliced clean open at a call, pretty much from elbow to wrist. Apparently I nearly bled to death, from what they told me at the hospital when I came to. Caught some flak from the other guys at 69s when I got back to duty."

"I never knew that."

Mike shrugged, "Would you wanna tell anyone you got sliced open by a drunk who didn't wanna be rescued?"

Chet's blue eyes went wide.

"What, you mean someone did that to you?"

"Yup. I was tryin' to get him out of this crappy hotel. Took out this big, crazy sharp knife and sliced my arm to hell. Went clean through my turnout."

"That's… that's actually a pretty cool story. Much better than bein' crushed by debris and-and pissin' yourself. Gives Johnny a run for his money... 'course he tops that in sheer numbers," Chet responded, his voice starting to get rough and labored.

"True. No one gets themselves into more trouble than John Gage."

Chet laughed, but it quickly turned into a pained moan.

"Chet, what's-?"

"My insides are bein' crushed, Mike. It's not exactly pleasant," Chet grunted, "Come on, keep talkin'. I wanna keep my mind off this mess."

"Talk about what?"

"Any- _fuck _! Anything, just talk…"

So Mike told him about the time he and one of his childhood friends managed to flood Mike's parents' bathroom. He explained, "Honestly, I don't even know what happened or how we did it. One minute we were just playing, and the next we'd flooded the bathroom. Never had my ass smacked so hard in my life."

"Implies you had your ass smacked a few times. Just can't imagine you in trouble, ol' Straight-laced Stoker."

"That's 'cause it didn't happen again. I was a pretty quick learner."

"Never again?"

"Alright, maybe a few times when I was a teenager, but nothin' really bad."

He looked to Chet, finding the younger man's face far too pale and tinged blue, veins popping in his neck and forehead.

"You stopped," Chet wheezed.

"I can't think of anything else to say."

"Well, what happened to your friend?"

"Jeff was drafted and went to 'Nam. He died in a POW camp not too long ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Isn't everyone?"

Chet wet his lips and asked, his voice almost inaudible again, "Am I… am I gonna die? I-I don't wanna-"

"No," Mike told him firmly, "I won't let you die. I promise."

"You… you can't prom-promise that."

"Watch me."

The noise Chet made was supposed to be a laugh but only sounded like a choked sob. _Maybe it _was _supposed to be a sob. Please, Chet, I just need you to hang in there… I need someone to come soon… I need someone to help me help you. _A voice, faint but recognizable, called, "Chet? Mike? Can either of you hear me?"

_I made a promise, Chet. I'm gonna help you remember?_ Mike yelled louder than he ever had.

"Over here! Please! Chet's trapped! I need help! _Over here_!"

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><p><strong><em>I tried to do the best research I could on how much weight the average human body can withstand and how long it would take to succumb. I looked into the old torture method called 'pressing', where weight was applied to a victim's chest until they either confessed or died.<em>**

**_If anyone has any information to improve upon this, please let me know and I will do my best to fix it._**


	4. Boom

4.) Mike heard the commotion before he saw anything. There was a small explosion, normal for the type of run they were on, but suddenly everyone was shouting and scrambling. Cap issued hurried orders over the H/T. Roy and John were giving rapid replies, and Mike realized with a jolt they were talking about Chet. He'd been in the basement of the house when water heater apparently blew up in his face. Roy and John rushed in after Marco to pull Chet out and begin treatment. Mike finished his work at the pumps and hurried over to see if he could help, and he did not particularly like what he saw.

Marco and John were holding Chet's arms to his sides as the lineman howled and swore, trying desperately to claw at his eyes. Roy dashed ahead to the squad to get the medical supplies.

"I'm gonna need your help, Mike," Roy told him, his voice tight, "You can either help me with treatment or switch places with John to keep Chet from touching his face."

"I'll relieve John," Mike replied.

He turned and rushed to his injured friend's side, taking John's place pinning Chet's left arm to the ground; it was no easy task. He was swearing and yelling in pain, bucking against Mike and Marco's grip. Marco was apologizing to his partner, alternating between English and rapid Spanish. Mike cast his gaze up to Chet's face; it was an angry red, his eyes squeezed shut, his moustache badly singed.

"Dammit, will someone keep him still!" John demanded.

Cap jumped into the fray, putting all his body weight across Chet's legs to minimize his movement. Roy relayed information and vitals to Rampart while John tried to calm Chet enough for treatment. When they started to apply saline to his face, Chet loosed a scream that turned Mike's stomach, but he didn't lessen his hold on the lineman's arm. Marco's voice cracked as he continued his bilingual stream of apologies. Chet was still struggling against the firemen holding him down, and Mike racked his brain for something, anything, that would help Chet. Mike used a leg to keep Chet's arm pinned, pulled off a glove with his teeth, and pressed his hand into Chet's, feeling him squeeze back tightly. It seemed to calm Chet somewhat, so Mike quickly told Marco to do the same, pleased to note it reduced the volume of Chet's swearing and the amount of yelling.

When the ambulance finally arrived, Roy told John and Marco to go in the ambulance to Rampart, and it was with reluctance that Mike released Chet's hand, though he pleased to note that John offered his own in its stead. Roy quickly packed up the remaining gear, put it in the squad, and tore off after the ambulance. That left Cap and Mike to pack up all the hose and take the engine to Rampart to check on their lineman.

Marco was pacing outside Three, so that meant that both Roy and John were inside, helping with treatment. As Cap and Mike approached, Marco once again started up his rapid apologies, mixing English and Spanish.

"…_y yo no se_ what happened, Cap! It's my fault! _Estoy estupido, muy estupido!_ I'm sorry, I'm such _un pendejo estupido_-"

"Marco, calm down," Cap told him.

"But, Cap-"

"_Stop_. It's not your fault. This isn't anyone's fault," Cap soothed, "It was just a freak accident and coulda happened to any one of us. Let's not go blamin' ourselves or we'll go nuts…"

Nearly half an hour after Cap and Mike arrived, the two paramedics emerged with Dr. Early and Dixie. Cap immediately asked, "How is he, Doc?"

"In a fair amount of pain," Early told them honestly, "Looks like he sustained some first-degree and partial thickness second-degree burns to his face and eyes. He'll probably be in some pain for a few days to a week, and the areas of partial thickness burns will probably blister some. As for his eyes, we're going to keep them patched and covered to make sure they don't sustain any more damage. I'm afraid Mr. Kelly will be spending at least two weeks with us while he heals."

"But his eyes-" Marco started.

"The prognosis is very good for the types of flash burns he sustained. The eyes are very good at protecting themselves, so the damage wasn't severe. We should be able to remove the bandaging in five to seven days."

All the men breathed a sigh of relief. _It's not great news, but it's the best we could get in this situation, I guess._ Early had Chet moved to a recovery room and allowed everyone in after Chet was settled, though they had to leave soon after checking on him. They all went back the next day after their shift ended but not for too long. Chet claimed he was tired from the pain meds and just wanted to sleep; Mike knew better. He went back alone the day after. There was shouting coming from Chet's room, what sounded like him and a woman. When Mike reached the door, he was almost taken out by a young woman with dark hair who was grumbling and swearing under her breath. Mike had no idea who she was. He watched her stomp around the corner and went inside.

Chet was propped up, a bandage wrapped around his head and eyes. His forehead looked as if it had been badly sunburnt and was starting to peel, while the rest of his face was pink and wet-looking, dotted with blisters. Mike's stomach gave an uncomfortable flop.

"Hey, it's Mike," he greeted, "You alright, Chet?"

"All things considered, I guess I am."

"Who was that that was just in here?"

"None of your damn business," Chet snapped.

_That's fair._ Mike took up a chair at Chet's bedside. An awkward silence hung over them for a few minutes before Mike cleared his throat and told him, "We've all been really worried about you, especially Marco. Y'know that thing he does when he gets real excited? Where he starts switching back and forth between English and Spanish, like he can't make up his mind on which one to use? Well… he does it when he's scared, too. He was pretty freaked out."

"Yeah… yeah, I heard him," Chet replied quietly, "I could kinda hear him through all my own yelling. It's all kind of a blur, really. I was wondering who else-… nevermind."

"What is it?"

"Well… I know Marco and John were in the ambulance with me, and obviously it was Johnny and Roy treatin' me on scene… I'm pretty sure it was Cap layin' across my legs… so it musta been you on my other arm… and you were the one that… that was holdin' my hand."

"So was Marco."

"Yeah, but it was you that did it first," Chet said, his voice low, "It was-… it was… comforting… much better than pinning my arm down. Let me know my friends were there, since I couldn't really hear, and I sure as hell couldn't see."

"I could tell. I felt you calm down when I did it, so I told Marco to do it, too."

"I appreciate it, Mike. I really do."

Mike smiled, saying, "You're welcome, Chet," and resting his hand atop Chet's wrist. The injured lineman moved under the hand, flipping his wrist so his hand was palm up. Mike moved his hand to cover it, and Chet gripped it like Mike would disappear at any moment. Mike squeezed back reassuringly. _I'm here, Chet… you're gonna be alright._


	5. Break

5.) The Incident (as everyone now called it) had been tough on everyone at 51s. It wasn't every day that a fireman's sister's crazy ex-boyfriend kicked in a paramedic's door and assaulted said sister and paramedic, getting a baseball bat to the skull for his trouble. Three months after it happened, John was back up and at work, and Chet had been back for about two months. At the station, both men pretended there was nothing wrong, that they were perfectly fine, that they weren't hurting, but Mike knew better. It was why he quietly suggested each man go see the department shrink, why he made it well known to them that he was always there if they wanted to talk or have a beer or go to the beach or whatever. John had Roy, though, and if was going to open up to anyone, it would be Roy. Chet, on the other hand…

Chet, as Mike had come to discover, was one of those people who would let something eat at him until he was so full of negative emotions he would unleash them in destructive ways, usually alcohol-related. More than once over their two-and-a-half years together, Mike had picked Chet up from some dive bar or went to his apartment to make sure he wouldn't die of alcohol poisoning overnight or choke on his own vomit. Once he was called by Vince to pick Chet up after a fight at a bar, and Mike was none too happy to see Chet bruised and bloodied (no matter how bad the other guy looked). He wanted to avoid a repeat of that scene altogether.

So one day at around that three-month mark, Mike suggested to Roy and John that maybe Chet's sister Charlie would enjoy spending the day with them, Joanne, and the kids, just to get out and about with familiar faces. Roy and John got both Kellys to agree, and on that day, Mike called Chet to see if he would like some company and was pleased to receive an affirmative.

"You know what happened, I guess?" Chet asked as they settled on the couch.

"Cap got copies of all the police and medical reports," he replied, confident Chet would know that it meant Cap had told him everything that happened.

"Then I'm not sure what else there is to talk about."

"There's Charlie. How's she holdin' up?"

Charlie was the primary source of Chet's worry and anxiety. She had come out of the Incident relatively uninjured but was by no means unscathed. Mike watched Chet chew his lip under his moustache, knowing the younger man wanted so desperately to lie. A long moment passed before Chet scrubbed at his face and mumbled, "It's… it all went to shit, Mike."

Mike said nothing, and Chet continued, "It's been three months now, three months since me and Roy went over there and-and found Charlie and John hurt… but it still feels like it was yesterday. Charlie tells me she's fine, but she can't even sleep through the night without at least one nightmare. Always wakes up screamin' and-and cryin' and takes forever to go back to sleep. She gets all uptight at the smallest noises, won't go anywhere without me or Roy or John or Joanne. My baby sister is a wreck, just so scared and upset… and I can't fix it. I-I don't know how to make it better."

Chet's voice was thick by the end of it, and he looked to Mike with wet, pleading eyes. His expression was one of helplessness, one Mike had never seen there before and hoped to never see again. Mike tried his best to help. He tried every trick in his book. He explained why he'd been to see the department shrink (the Oaks Manor Apartment Fire of '62), suggested Chet take Charlie to see the shrink with him, let him further in behind the curtain than anyone had ever been, eventually saying, "I'm here because I wanna help you out, 'cause you're having a hard time of it right now, and I really think I'm helping, so… so there."

Chet just looked at him, his blue eyes filled with tears he was refusing to let fall. Mike took a long moment, chose his next words carefully, and quietly told Chet, "Look… I dunno about anything your brothers told you or your dad or mom or your friends or the Army… but… well, I consider the men I work with and protect my brothers, and that definitely includes you, Chet. As your brother, I'm telling you it's not good to pretend everything's alright 'til you're alone, to hide how much you're hurting from us. And I know that from experience, though I sure as hell wish I didn't. Sometimes, you just want your brothers to listen, so I'm here to listen, and I don't care what it is you wanna do, if it's yell or scream or talk or cry. I'll listen… and I won't think any less of you or repeat anything I see or hear. I just… you're not alone, Chet. There are people who care about you and-and wanna help you… so let me help."

A long moment passed between them… then it happened.

Chet blinked, sending a pair of tears rolling down his cheeks. He sniffed loudly, his lip trembling, and put his face in his hands. Mike reached out and laid a hand on the back of Chet's head, just at the base of his skull, murmuring, "You're safe here, Chet… please, just let me help."

And that was all it took. A sob burst past Chet's lips, opening the floodgates. He just _wept_, his whole body shaking from the heart-wrenching sobs. Mike said nothing. He simply kept his hand in constant contact with Chet, leaving it rest at the base of his skull, running it gently up and down the younger man's back, letting his thumb stroke at the back of his neck soothingly. _Chet's been so busy being strong for Charlie, he hasn't given himself the time he needs to take care of himself._ He gave the lineman all the time in the world, letting him cry into near exhaustion, until he slumped back against the couch, his face wet and red and splotchy. Mike brought him a damp washcloth to clean up his face and went into the kitchen to make lunch, though he found nothing and paid for a pizza instead.

"I… thanks, Mike," Chet muttered when they finished their pizza, "There's… I'm not even sure I can ever really thank you, honestly."

"You'll make it up to me one day, so don't worry about it for now."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I really hope I never have to."

"Honestly, I hope you don't, either," Mike replied softly, not voicing the _but you will one day_ that tacked itself on the end.

They shared the silence for a moment before Chet found a bowl game to watch, which they did until Roy dropped Charlie off and Mike excused himself so they could talk.

"Everything alright?" Roy asked him as they walked out of Chet's apartment building.

"No," Mike answered truthfully, "but it will be."


	6. Brothers

_**This chapter does mention fire-related deaths and the deaths of children.**_

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><p>+1.) Chet rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower, knowing he was the last to use it, needing a moment to decompress after their last run. None of them had seen anything that bad in years, certainly not a structure fire in a residential home. <em>There was just so much shit in that house. <em>The home had been so packed with clutter that no one could maneuver inside, not even John, so there was no real way to get lines or rescuers inside. The fire took over an hour to put out because a neighbor had unwittingly given the fire more oxygen by breaking a window to see if he could help. _Otherwise the amount of crap in that house woulda stalled the ventilation and the fire woulda died out on its own from lack of oxygen._ Instead, they went to two alarms and a major overhaul before they could even get in to figure out what went wrong and determine a number of victims. It wasn't good.

The homeowner was an elderly woman, who was now nothing more than charred remains, whose cigarette appeared to be the ignition source. Unfortunately, she was not the only occupant. She had five grandchildren living with her, all of whom died of either asphyxia from the fire eating up all the oxygen or smoke inhalation. Chet didn't know which, and it didn't matter anyway. Dead was dead. Every man on scene had been called inside for overhaul, from the captains to the greenest rookie, just due to the volume of stuff in the house. Chet and Marco found the old woman, but for once, Chet wished he'd found the kids if it meant Cap and Mike wouldn't have. _Not Cap with his three beautiful girls he loves more than anything… Not Mike who hates blood and death, who had to deal with the Oaks Manor Fire… not them…_ Chet heaved a sigh and finished his shower, scrubbing extra hard after finding all those cockroaches. (Apparently, they were trying to escape the fire and thought turnout gear was a good place to hide.)

Everyone was sitting in the kitchen when he finally emerged from the locker room in his civvies, ready to go home and sleep for as long as he could. Cap gave them a quick talk, telling them to make appointments with the shrink if they had serious issues and to rest and recuperate before their next shift. Chet knew Cap would go home and talk to his wife and decompress, as would Marco and Roy, and John would need Roy to talk to because only another paramedic could really understand how it felt to not be able to save anyone from that house. _That leaves me and Mike… poor Mike…_ Their engineer looked utterly miserable, his eyes dead, his form slumped. Chet approached him in the parking lot, asking, "Hey, you wanna crash at my place? Charlie's outta town with a girlfriend so there's plenty of room and, uh… I think we could both use the company."

"Sure, Chet… thanks."

"Not a problem, pal. Come on…"

Mike refused to take Charlie's bed even though she was out of town or Chet's because 'that would be rude', so Chet gave up arguing and just got him a spare pillow and blanket and set him up on the couch. He knew full well that Mike would immediately give up his bed if their roles were reversed, and he just wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Chet went in and made sure his bedroom door was open before dropping into an exhausted sleep… that was cut much shorter than he would have liked. He blinked in the muted daylight until he consciously heard the small, barely audible sounds of distress coming from the living room.

He found Mike curled into an impossibly small ball on the couch. Sad, soft noises issued from his shivering form. Chet went to him, doing his best to wake him gently, to coax him into reality.

"There ya go… that's it," he whispered, "Wake up, Mike. It's alright. Everything's alright. We're all safe, me and you, too. Everyone's safe here. Come on, I've got ya. Just wake up for me…"

Mike sat up so fast he almost headbutted Chet, who managed to move just in time. He was back at Mike's side in an instant, trying to calm the upset and disoriented engineer.

"K-Kids, Chet," Mike stammered, shivering more than ever, "They we-were just kids, little-little kids, and-and they got stuck in that-that death trap-! So-… they were so-so scared. You… you could see it in-in their f-faces, Chet, how sc-scared they were when-! _Shit_!"

Mike was shaking and sweating, his face white as a sheet. Chet knew what that meant, so he hauled the taller man into the bathroom just in time for him to empty what little he had in his stomach. _Oh, how the tables turn…_ Chet perched on the side of the tub, resting his hand on Mike's back in a gesture of comfort until he was done heaving. He grabbed a washcloth for Mike's face and some water for him to sip on, trying to maintain as much physical contact as possible to let Mike know he wasn't alone. When Mike was sufficiently calm, Chet quietly asked, "What happened?"

"I-I can't, it's-"

"Talk to me, Mike. Let me help you."

He blinked up at Chet, his eyes wide and wet. Chet explained, "You said that to me, when we were here after the Incident. You asked me to let you help, and I did. You've… you've done a lot for me, helped me out… and now I think it's time I return the favor. Let me help."

Mike's expression crumpled almost immediately, and he looked down at his knees, whimpering, "I saw them… those kids… they were asking why we didn't save them… them and all the ones before, even back to '62… and they always look so scared, not even a little angry, just-just scared… and-and… I can't-!"

He choked down a sob, and it was all he needed to start. They sat there in the bathroom, Chet on the side of the tub, Mike pressed against his legs, openly weeping. Chet thought back to when he was a little kid, getting picked on and coming home crying every day, and smiled faintly as he remembered his mother. Following the memories, he brought his hand around to Mike's forehead, smoothing his hair back, though he held off on the humming. He spoke instead, a low and constant murmur, speaking about his mother and his father and taking care of Charlie, how his elder brother drifted away and became a stranger, how his younger brother died in 'Nam.

"…and I just remember Mom doin' this for us when we were upset or sick and, well… my brothers are pretty much gone now… so all you guys at the station, you're my brothers," he said softly, "I suppose if you're my brother I can let you in on the family secret. It's… it's really nice havin' brothers again."

He couldn't even be sure he'd been heard with how hard Mike was crying, but he spoke anyway, until Mike cried himself into exhaustion.

"Looks like you really needed that," Chet remarked, helping him to the couch.

Mike huffed, "Yeah… I s'pose I did. Never really have an opportunity usually. It's pretty awful when you're alone."

"Well, now you know you can call me… just like you told me to do."

"S'pose I did," Mike repeated sleepily.

Chet laughed quietly, "Alright, take a nap, Mike. A good one. I'll be here."

"Hope so. It's your place."

Chet let out a bark of a laugh, and Mike snickered in response. It was all they needed to be sent into fits of laughter that left their sides aching and their eyes wet.

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><p><em><strong>Thanks so much to everyone who followed and enjoyed this story. I haven't done a proper 5+1 in a while, and I really enjoyed putting this one on paper (and the web).<strong>_


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